


the lesson to be learned here is --

by drowsilybearzerk



Category: Phantasy Star Online 2
Genre: Body Horror, Character Death, Clones, F/M, Internal Conflict, Luthaly, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27318022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowsilybearzerk/pseuds/drowsilybearzerk
Summary: To recreate something from memory is a talent best left to the professionals.
Relationships: Luther Lars Ray Cuent/Original Female Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	the lesson to be learned here is --

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alasondria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasondria/gifts).



Luther can bring her back. He has the equipment, the skill set, the knowledge --

He knows he can. He’s certain of it.

But she comes out wrong, every

single

_time._

It’s a temporary project, a hyperfixation. He will, eventually, have to return to Xion, whether she will accept him or not.

But if Alasondria was still here -- the answer would be so simple. Of course, she would guide him. Of course, she would support him. She always had, hadn’t she? And where was she now? Of course -- she wouldn’t abandon him this time.

It’s another body to discard.

This one -- it’s her face, her body, but she wakes and sobs and pleads. No. He’d never hurt her, so she’d have no reason to weep. Her words are static, and he doesn’t bother to hear them. It’s a stain to her memory to produce anything less than perfect. He cleans the stain. It’s quick. He derives no delight in prolonging the misery of others.

_Not that he derives delight from anything, not anymore._

He tries again.

This one has her voice, her face, her body, but the movements are all wrong. A forced smile and a light that never reaches her eyes, walking more like a marionette, cruel irony pulling at the strings. He doesn’t have to take care of this one. He grimaces -- she collapses. Another misfit toy.

Again.

_Wrong._

Again.

 _No_.

It’s a puzzle and he has all the pieces -- _he should have all the pieces, damn it_ \-- and yet the picture is indiscernible.

Again.

This one is -- perfect. It’s Alasondria, true to form, in mannerism and physicality. She’s grateful, as she should be, for her existence. It feels right --

_that’s not her and you damn well know it_

\-- to have her in the lab again, by his side, as is her rightful place. She is brought up to speed, and she handles the new information with grace and acceptance. There is a fullness in his heart _and the feeling of something scratching at the door only just barely held back_ , and all is right in the world.

Wopal suits her. An ocean planet devoid of anyone but them.

She spends three days with him, as if she’d never left. She remains his one proof of concept.

The Wopal natives know to resist when he takes them, the Photoners having touched base there once before, but it doesn’t matter. What is the end goal of his experiments on Wopal?

It doesn’t matter. He’ll succeed at it, and that’s it.

Alasondria, of course, agrees. Agrees to hold the Petite Meduna down, agrees that the suffering is necessary, agrees that how silly of her to poke the wrong vein --

Actually.

All she’s done for the three days she’s been there was agree.

But wasn’t that correct? Wasn’t that right? Wasn’t that _his_ Alasondria?

_She’s not yours she was never yours you don’t know her --_

**Of course, dear** \-- she agrees.

**I’m not yours. Of course, dear. You don’t know me.**

His rage flares, like she betrayed him again, like this imperfection was out of spite, rather than his own making. He ends her, like the others, and she doesn’t flinch, nor does she attempt to flee, nor does she fight back.

T **hank you, dear. I apologize for failing.**

He disposes of his final failure and returns to the creatures of Wopal.

She would haunt him no more.


End file.
